


Redemption, My Boy...II

by you_name_it



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mild Spoiler, Not Strictly Canon, Past Child Abuse, freud would have a field day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-22 12:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_name_it/pseuds/you_name_it
Summary: And there’s blood. A lot of blood. He follows one particularly gruesome trail when he hears it. A whining. It comes from the treeline just below camp. Arthur takes out his knife, slowly making his way towards the sound.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	1. Arthur

Arthur:

He wakes in total darkness. What the-… A flare of pain shoots through his side as he tries to lift himself up from the cold ground. ‘F-uck...’ 

If this is hell it sure ain’t a fiery pit of any kind. He’d prefer that to this cold and damp shithole.  
Another attempt to sit up, pain splitting his skull. Dizziness overtakes him and he reaches out for anything to steady himself. His shaking hands find a cold wall and he leans into it. Steady, deep breaths… 

He coughs. 

Oh great...not dead then. He must’ve hit his head...hard. What the fuck happened? He leans back into the wall and closes his eyes in an attempt to make the world stop spinning. 

‘Be careful, one of them bastards might still be down here!’ Arthur snaps to. He has no idea how long he was out but it’s still dark. And someone is coming. Arthur scrambles to his feet, taking in his surroundings. A ray of moonlight is illuminating a ladder a bit further ahead. The cave. He’s in that damn cave at Beaver Hollow. 

‘Remember, shoot on sight. We are not taking any chances.’ Shit, he knows that voice. Milton has finally made true on his threat and brought enough men to stop them.  
Arthur stumbles towards the ladder. Where the hell is everybody? Captured? Dead? 

Something on the ground catches his attention. His gun. What’s his gun doing here- 

‘Hey! I’ve got someone!’ 

Shit! Arthur makes for the ladder as shots ring out behind him. For once the darkness is to his advantage. Those idiots are firing blindly into the walls but he knows the cave by heart now. He squeezes himself into an opening, hoping no stray bullet will find its mark. From his position he watches as Pinkertons climb the ladder, making their way to the top of the cave. He’ll just have to hold out a little longer. 

‘Who do you think that was?’ Arthur holds his breath. How many more of them were there?

‘It doesn’t matter. Whoever it was, he won’t be much of a threat now. He’s unarmed’. Milton, that son of a bitch. Arthur watches as he picks up his gun, handing it to the man beside him.  
‘The few idiots left out there didn’t put up much of a fight either. Half of ‘em are dead and the rest will be hunted down soon enough. This is the end of the Van der Linde gang. There’s nowhere left to run this time.’

Arthur feels another coughing fit coming on. Fuck, not now. He clamps his hand over his mouth but it’s too late. 

‘What was that?’ Arthur’s heart is hammering in his chest as he tries to suppress another cough. If they spot him, he’s finished. They’ll either shoot him on the spot or put him on trial to hang. He ain’t sure which one he prefers. 

God he had it coming though. They all had. If Dutch only listened-… Dutch. Arthur goes cold. Something feels terribly wrong. Something to do with Dutch. But he can’t seem to put his finger on it. Hard as he tries he just can’t remember. What the fuck happened in this goddamn cave?!

Milton and his man are getting closer. Shit, shit, shit... 

‘We found something out here!’, a voice echoes down from the opening above. ‘It’s a body, sir.’  
‘Any idea who it is?’, Milton calls.  
‘Yeah. Looks like Bell.’

Hah. Arthur can’t help but smile. If that sack of shit is dead, something good came out of this mess after all. 

‘Well he played his part. Saves us the trouble. That leaves only Morgan and van der Linde. And we’ll get them soon enough. Alright boys, let’s clear out!’ Milton orders as they retreat.

Arthur let’s out another cough followed by a deep sigh. Looks like he’ll get to live another day after all. For better or worse. 

When the air seems clear he sits down against the cold wall attempting to assess the damage done. He carefully presses his hand to his side. Shit that hurts…few broken ribs at least. He puts his hand to the side of his head and it comes back bloody. Just great. Then he notices his pants. Parts of his jeans were ripped. Slowly he gets back up on his feet and starts taking them down. He runs cold. Blood. Dried blood on the inside of his jeans and down his thighs. And then he feels it. The too familiar pain radiating from his backside. Oh hell no. 

His vision begins to swim. There are hands on him. Pressing him against the wall. He hears his own voice as if from a distance. He’s pleading with his father. Begging him to stop. It hurts. It always did. And afterwards, when he’s finally left alone, he feels ashamed. Ashamed of the begging, ashamed at himself. 

But this time it’s different. No. No it’s not his father. 

Micah! That goddamn bastard. He must have done this to him that sick piece of shit. Oh the things he would do to him if he were still alive… 

Dawn slowly creeps over the mountains on the horizon as he finally steps out of the cave. The camp was a mess. Tents on the ground, wagons tipped over and their meager belongings scattered everywhere. And there’s blood. A lot of blood. He follows one particularly gruesome trail when he hears it. A whining. It comes from the treeline just below camp. Arthur takes out his knife, slowly making his way towards the sound. 

The Count. Halfway down to the stream lies Dutch's horse. Its coat is caked in blood, body rising and falling with each desperate breath. There was no sign of its rider. 

‘It’s OK, boy’, Arthur kneels down beside its head, ‘shhh...’

The Count’s eyes are glazed over, blood bubbling from its nostrils. 

There’s no way Dutch would have left him in this state. He loves his horse. Maybe even more than he loves any of them. God, the man had changed so much in the past few months. 

‘It’s going to be alright, boy’, one hand stroking the Counts matted mane, Arthur places his knife to its throat, ending the suffering. 

Where the hell was Dutch. According to Milton the two of them were the only ones left alive. That couldn’t be right. Sadie and the girls are clever, there’s a good chance they got as far away as they could in time. And John? Well he ain’t all that bright that’s for sure but he’s one lucky bastard. God he hopes they made it. 

He gets up and whistles for his horse. No rustling of leaves, no sound of hoofs. Damn. Well, no use sitting around here waiting to be caught. If he wants to find out what happened, he needs to find Dutch. Maybe the man finally came to his senses. After all, who would’ve shot that rat Micah if not him. Shame fills Arthur’s heart. He hopes Dutch didn’t see what that asshole did to him…


	2. Dutch

Rain is dripping from the brim of his hat. It will turn into snow soon enough. Dutch never thought he'd have to return to this godforsaken place. But here he is. Making his way north on a horse that ain’t his. The Count. What he’d give to have him by his side now. But he had to leave him behind in that mess a few weeks back… 

He's been on the run ever since. Slowly but surely making his way north toward Colter. He’d hide there until his mind is clear enough to work out what to do next. Things shouldn’t have gone the way they did. Not after Blackwater. He had to leave the money behind...again...in that damn cave. And Arthur… 

Dutch remembers it so clearly. The power he felt slamming Arthur up against that wall, taking him. Pulling out, his cock smeared with blood... Oh, it was exhilarating. He’d never felt anything like that before. 

Arthur. His boy… a wave of sorrow washes over him. Dutch reins in his horse. ‘Shit...’ he mutters. No. He won’t let the boy get the better of him now. Regret wasn’t part of this life he chose. It couldn’t be. He spurs his horse forward into a fast trot. Anger. Now that is something he can relate to. 

Arthur, that damn fool. It was all his fault, Dutch was sure of that. 

How dare he betray him after all this time. What hurts most is that he knew he would turn on him and still did nothing. He hesitated and it all went to shit because of it. But Arthur had always been his soft spot…. 

It must have been nearly a decade ago. Only him and Arthur out following a lead. After a day riding through a desert waste they made camp in the shade of a group of rocks. 

And that night in the desert under a dark sky, Arthur had told him. And Dutch had listened. He knew what was coming. Had suspected it all along. Dutch remembered the nightmares, the boy screaming out in terror in the night….

That night by a dying campfire, Arthur carefully avoiding Dutch’s gaze, he told him all.  
About how he and his father used to sleep rough when the money was gone once again. How his father used to come back to camp drunk out of his mind and ready for a fight. How he fought as best he could. How when he was lucky, it ended with a brutal beating and how when he was not … his father had dragged him into the tent or just pushed him into the dirt by the campfire. How he used to scream and beg for him to stop.  
How on some nights he just didn’t have it in him anymore to plead. How much worse it felt on those nights. How ashamed he was to let it just happen. Without a fight, without the bruises that would prove to him the next day that he had tried.  
How it hurt, each and every time. 

Dutch knew to be silent. One word and Arthur would withdraw. As he so often did. He hid himself away so well but Dutch knew better. He could always see it. The fractured soul beneath all that gun oil and cigarette smoke.  
So that night by the campfire, he sat there in silence, listening to a tale so dark even the devil couldn’t have conjured it up. 

He remembers his hands shaking. Anger flaring up inside him. It’s flames threatening to consume him. Oh the things he would do to Lyle if he were still drawing breath. 

But he wouldn’t let it show. Arthur wouldn’t take kindly to such a display of emotion. He wasn’t as true to his feelings as Dutch was. Never one to show them and even less one to receive them willingly. He didn’t understand it yet, the importance of being true to oneself… But Dutch wouldn’t push him. Not then and there. So he just sat and listened. 

And Arthur reciting those events as if they had happened to someone else, not him. He didn’t look up once, didn’t falter, didn’t choke. And when he was done he got up. Without another word he made his way to his tent, leaving Dutch by the remains of their fire. 

Dutch didn’t sleep that night. 

The next morning, when Arthur got out of his tent, Dutch had already saddled up, ready to go. Arthur didn’t say a word. They rode in silence for the rest of the day.  
When they finally neared their destination – a desert outpost like any other – Dutch decided it was time to push.

‘Arthur’, Dutch began.

Arthur glanced at him. ‘It’s ok, son, you-’

‘Don’t.’ Arthur warned. 

And for once, Dutch listened. And he never brought it up again. 

Until the cave. When Arthur came to camp, demanding to be heard, questioning his EVERY move. Dutch was so sick of having to prove himself again and AGAIN.  
After all he had done for them. After all he was still doing to get them out of this godforsaken place. 

He saw it coming. It didn’t escape him how Arthur had changed these past few months. And still… it hurt when he looked at him with those accusing eyes. Arthur used to look up to him. Unwavering loyalty, he was his favorite, he was his best, he was HIS. 

Oh but that day. The look in his eyes. Dutch will never forget it. 

That moral superiority. As if suddenly HE knew the difference between right and wrong. When he had NO idea about the workings of this world. 

The hatred he felt then. He wanted to DESTROY him. 

And so he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 of total lockdown. No people in the streets. Police patrolling. 
> 
> But the sun is still shining so here we go.
> 
> Be kind. Be safe. 
> 
> Spoiler: From here on out Arthur's sickness won't be mentioned anymore. It doesn't feel right given what is going on. It's only one more chapter anyway.


	3. Redemption

Arthur puts another small log into the flames of his campfire. Dutch had hidden his tracks well but he knew the man. He knows what to look for and how he thinks, or at least he thought he did. These past months he hasn’t been so sure if hew knew the man at all. 

He thinks back to that night in the cave. He still can’t remember what happened after he confronted Dutch at camp. But there is something there. Like a dull ache in the back of his mind, trying to come forth. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear his mind. He needs to focus on the task ahead. He needs to find Dutch and get things back on track. 

He came across Dutch’s trail again a few days back and he can see where he is headed now. Colter. It would be another few days until he caught up with him. 

The snow is coming down heavily now. He can barely make out the wooden structures in the distance but there’s light coming from one of the windows. 

‘Dutch!’, he calls out into the cold night. ‘Dutch! Damn it, I know you are here!’ 

Silence.

‘Ah, Jesus’, Arthur dismounts and leads his horse to the stable. When he emerges into the night again, the light is gone. 

‘Come on Dutch. It’s me, Arthur!’

Suddenly he feels the hard press of a barrel against his back. ‘Hello, Son.’ 

‘Jesus, Dutch-’

‘Put’em up’ 

‘What-’

‘I said, put em up!’ 

Arthur slowly raises his hands. His skin begins to crawl. ‘Can we at least go inside before I freeze to death out here?’ he jokes. 

‘Move.’ Dutch commands and presses his gun in harder. 

Once inside, Dutch bolts the door. ‘Sit.’ 

Arthur takes of his coat and moves towards a chair by a now unlit fireplace. ‘Dutch, what is-’

‘Remove your guns and slide ‘em over here.’ Arthur stares at him. ‘Now!’, Dutch raises his revolver, ‘And the knife too.’ 

Arthur takes of his belt and throws it at Dutch’s feet. 

‘How did you find me?’ Dutch growls. 

‘What?’

‘I said’, Dutch moves towards him, placing the tip of his gun to Arthur’s chest, ‘HOW did you find me?!’ 

This ain’t right. The look on Dutch’s face sends a chill down his spine. 

‘I followed your trail. Lost it a few times along the way but once around Strawberry, I knew you’d come here … just like after Blackwater.’ 

Dutch doesn’t move, gun still pointed at him.

Arthur’s heart sinks. Dutch clearly doesn’t trust him. Shit…he must have caught him and Micah in that cave… did he think they were after the money stashed away down there? Did he … did he witness what Micah did? Oh God… 

‘Down in that cave-’ Arthur begins. Dutch’s eyes widen. ‘Dutch…did you,’ his voice cracks, ‘Did you see what Micah did?’ 

‘What?’ Dutch looks puzzled.

‘What he … what he did to me...’ Arthur looks down. 

Realization hits Dutch, ‘You don’t remember, do you.’ He begins to laugh. 

‘Remember what?’ Arthur grabs the barrel of the gun, ‘What the hell is going on here?!’ 

Dutch’s fist connects whit his right temple and he goes down, head spinning. 

‘Careful now’, Dutch growls. 

Hand pressed to his head, Arthur stares up at him in shock. Dutch holsters his gun, huffing a laugh. 

‘Oh Arthur, Arthur,’ he slowly shakes his head, ‘this will be entertaining.’ 

Dutch pins him down to the floor with a boot on his chest. 

‘What happened in that cave, it ain’t what you think’, He leans forward, putting his weight on Arthur’s chest. ‘It was my cock up your ass down there.’ 

‘No,‘ Arthur croaks. 

‘No that‘s not- ...‘ there‘s a ringing in his ears, ‘That‘s not what happened.‘ 

Dutch looks at him. ‘Micah had nothing to do with it. He tried to make off with the money, I stopped him-‘

‘Did he...‘, Arthur swallows hard, ‘did he see?‘ 

‘That I took you up against that wall?‘ Dutch smiled. ‘Oh yes he saw alright.‘ 

‘But that ain‘t why I shot him. I don‘t mind an audience‘, Dutch laughed. 

‘You‘re insane‘, Arthur whispers. 

Dutch‘s stare turns cold, ‘What did you just call me, Son?‘ 

In a swift motion, he drops to his knees and begins to remove Arthur’s clothes.  
The struggle that follows leaves Arthur nearly unconscious and naked from the waist down. Dutch is still on top of him, breathing hard. 

‘And here I thought you‘d learned your lesson. You should know by now...there‘s no escape from this.‘ 

Resigned, Arthur closes his eyes and slowly spreads his legs. 

Dutch smirks, ‘What an obedient boy you are.‘ 

‘You are just like him.’

‘Like who’, Dutch asks, unbuckling his own belt. 

‘HIM, you sick bastard!’

Dutch hits him hard. ‘I am nothing like your goddamn father! He was NOTHING!’

‘I know what you are doing’, Dutch hisses, ‘Provoking me, trying to make me knock you out cold’.

He looks at Arthur. Eyes closed, teeth clenched – he is waiting for the next blow. Dutch can feel him trembling beneath him. He lifts his hand and puts it to Arthur’s side, almost tenderly. And Arthur flinches hard. 

Slowly Arthur looks at him, ‘Dutch, I’m done. I ain’t playing these mind games of yours’. 

He averts his eyes, ‘Do it or don’t. Just get it over with’

‘You know’, Dutch flashes a cruel smile at him, ‘We’ve never talked about that night. A night just like this, dark and cold… you remember, surely. All them years ago, when you told me-’

‘Fuck you.’ Arthur glares at him. 

‘Do you know why he did it? Fuck you I mean,’ Dutch smirks. ‘He blamed you. Blamed you for all the misfortune in his life.’

‘So why do you do it then?, Arthur challenges, ‘Because you blame me for the shit you got all of us into? Do you think you can fuck your way to redemption?!’

Dutch enters him, forcing him open with short, brutal thrusts. 

Arthur groans, desperately trying not to scream. The pain is so intense, it feels like he’s being split open. Shit...he must be bleeding. 

Dutch buries himself to the hilt with another agonizing thrust, ‘Does it hurt?’ 

Arthur spits in his face.

Dutch withdraws and shoves back into him hard. 

‘You used to be my strongest man. Look at you now, taking it like a common whore.’ 

Arthur’s mind begins to drift… He was on his back, his father moving on top of him, ‘You squeal like your mother you worthless piece of shit!’ There was a giant hand at his throat, pinning him down. ‘This is all you are good for...look at you, you whore’, Lyle reeked of smoke and bile, he must have been out drinking himself senseless again. ‘Pa...stop, I’m sorry-’

‘You are getting tight’, Dutch moans. Arthur is staring up at him, eyes unfocused, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ His breath hitches, ‘Pa, please stop!’ 

‘Jesus, fuck!’ Dutch pulls out, sitting back on his heels. ‘What in the name of-’, he pushes a hand through his hair, staring at the form before him.

Arthur has drawn up his legs as if to protect himself. He is shaking violently now. 

Dutch moves forward, grabbing one of his arms and moving it away. ‘Stop this shit!’, he roars. 

Arthur twists out from his grip and crawls backwards, away from him. Dutch gets to his feet, ‘Do you think you can play games with me?!’ 

Arthur reaches out and grabs hold of his gun. Dutch freezes, ‘Now listen, boy...’ But Arthur isn’t even looking at him. His eyes are fixed on Dutch’s crotch, where blood and come are still dripping from his half-hard cock. 

‘Don’t you dare-’, Dutch bellows. A shot rings out and pain explodes between his legs. He stumbles backwards into the wall of the cabin. He brings his hands to the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. All he feels is wetness and mingled flesh. Eyes wide in shock he sinks to the floor. 

He stares in disbelieve as Arthur flees out into the night. In his final moments he catches a movement in the dark right outside the door: a black shape with gleaming yellow eyes is staring right at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus. [goes to hide in a bunker with 10k rolls of toilet paper]
> 
> What can I say - I don't have any apologies for this. English is tricky, but it makes for funny mistakes. Such as 'waste' instead of 'waist' (spotted that one in time) but I'm sure there's more. Not to mention grammar and the rest. 
> 
> It has been fun trying to get into the minds of these two characters. Not sure it turned out the way I or anyone imagined. I simply try to write what I would like to read (as horrid as it may sound). AO3 feels like a safe environment to do just that, so thank you. 
> 
> Quarantine lasts until mid April/ early May down here (or so authorities say) so there might be more (hopefully less-dark...or maybe even darker) smut on the way. As there isn't much else to do anyway. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, be safe.


End file.
